It happened every winter.

Poison Ivy, once-renowned eco-terrorist and criminal genius, was part-plant, and that meant her physiology was unique. In the absence of sunlight, like during this particularly rough Gotham winter, her metabolism ground to a halt. Still, her body needed a lot of energy, so her cravings were insane. She packed on a bit of weight at this time every year, but since she settled down with Harley it had gotten to the point where it was rather egregious. Every winter she ballooned up to a fairly large size, and as the sun returned the weight would practically melt off as she nursed her outdoor plants back to life.

Currently, Pamela Isley sat in a loose green robe, the belt stretched tightly over her soft, rounded belly and wide hips. She laid back on the couch, one foot up on the coffee table as she snacked, a box of chocolates being her current victim. One of many, it seemed, as discarded boxes of sweets and treats littered the living room of her and Harley's shared manor.

"Harls! I swear, next time you wander off, I'm not pausing Twin Peaks! You're gonna be so confused when you come back!" She shouted through a mouthful of chocolate.